


it felt like home

by softdante



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, i mean as slow burn as 11k words can be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 09:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15726738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softdante/pseuds/softdante
Summary: Consider this: seven whole years after graduating from Watford, Simon unknowingly moves into the same apartment building as Baz.





	it felt like home

**Author's Note:**

> alright girls n gays heres what u need to know before reading:   
> imagine the plot of carry on except Baz and Simon don't get together (i know, its absurd, but try) and it's mostly Simon and Penny who defeat the humdrum without Baz's help (also absurd, but try)  
> anyway yeah have fun ive spent an entire year editing n rewriting this over n over again n im sick of it just take it if i read it one more time i might genuinely lose it

This is a lot harder without Penelope helping him, without Penelope transferring boxes with him, without Penelope cracking jokes with him. Thinking about Penelope hurts, and it's distracting, so Simon pushes her out of his mind, just for now.

His hands are aching from all the things he's had to carry. It's been an hour, and not even half of his stuff is in the new apartment, which is saying a lot considering he doesn't own much. He stops at the top of the stairs to catch a breath, and someone aggressively opens their door. Simon winces even though he'd been waiting for this. It's nine in the morning on a Sunday, and he wasn't being particularly quiet. Someone coming out to yell at him for being loud was bound to happen.

"What the fuck is this?" A raspy voice comes from an apartment to his right, and his head turns so fast that his neck nearly snaps in two. He forgets the proper way to breathe when the black haired, grey eyed vampire comes into view, and of course, he drops the box he's holding, causing something to break inside. Baz raises his head, his frown deepening as he rubs his eyes. He still can't locate the noise.

Finally, Baz turns to him, and his arms fall to his sides, limp. His expression is unreadable, but Simon is sure it isn't anything positive. "Of course," Baz ducks his chin. "Who else would be so boisterous this early, knowing there are people sleeping around him?"

Simon doesn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Anger, shock, maybe, but not this. "Boisterous?" Simon says, dumbly. So dumbly. "You still use words no one understands but you?"

Baz stares at him for exactly four seconds (Yes, Simon's counting. What else is he supposed to do in this situation?), then shakes his head and goes back inside, closing the door softly.

Simon stands there, starstruck, for god knows how long. Then he remembers whatever it is he broke and curses under his breath, dropping to his knees to lift the box once again.

He doesn't know how to feel about this.  
  
  


The place looked small before Simon unpacked what little furniture he has, and it looks even smaller now. The bedroom is almost the same size of his room at Watford. It makes him kind of nostalgic. Except this place is almost empty. His room is practically devoid, having nothing but the same bed he owned when he shared an apartment with Penny and a dresser to keep his clothes in. The living room has one couch, a small table, and his same old TV that he has to hit from behind to get to work. That's basically all he has in his apartment. There's nothing in his kitchen, and his one bathroom has the bare necessities.

It's not like he's low on money. He just has no energy to do anything except sulk around on the couch and order fast food. All the money left to him isn't exactly untouched, but most of it is. His lack of motivation is to thank, but he's also too afraid to splurge. It's not like he has a job and a stable income to make up for the cash he spends. And now, he doesn't have someone to split the rent with him.

The thought reminds him of Penelope's absence. Then again, most things do these days. His chest aches with missing her, and he pulls out his phone to send her a text.

It feels lonely. Now, he regrets not keeping contact with anyone after school, but to be fair the trauma he'd experienced when his last year ended had kept him from speaking to anyone who wasn't Penelope or his therapist for a long time.

A knock at the door startles him, almost making him drop his phone into his Chinese takeout. He considers not opening the door because he can't imagine it's anyone he wants to see. The only person he currently would be happy to find at the door left to be with her boyfriend at America.

"It's impolite to keep people waiting, Snow," Baz's voice comes from outside, and Simon snorts. Like the guy who locked him out in the cold for a whole night would know anything about being polite.

Sighing, Simon stands up with serious effort and walks to his front door, unlocking it. Baz is leaning against the door, looking as casual as ever, as if the person he spent all his teenage years tormenting hadn't just moved into the same floor as him. He pushes past Simon and walks into the room. "And you're criticizing my manners?" He huffs, closing the door.

He supposes he should feel embarrassed about how the place looks but, 1) He only just moved in three days ago. It's bound to look bad. 2) Baz lived with Simon for eight years. He knows how messy he is.

"This place is a dump," Baz says when he spares the living room a glance, sounding not at all surprised. Simon finds himself unnecessarily offended.

"You're a dump," he mutters before he can stop himself.

Baz lifts a perfect eyebrow, and he's not smiling but it looks like he wants to. "I see your mentality hasn't developed much in the past seven years." Although lonely a minute ago, Simon doesn't really find Baz's company that comforting. The words  _seven years_ ring in his head, reminding him of how different things are now. He thinks about this a lot, wondering whether or not he misses Watford. His pondering always starts with a big fat yes being the answer, but then he thinks about all the lies and the bloodshed and he's suddenly not so sure anymore.

Baz doesn't wait for a reply, and instead makes his way to the kitchen. Simon rolls his eyes. "Make yourself at home, asshole."

"Back to name calling already?" Baz hums, his back to Simon. "I'd thought we could be friendly neighbors."

Simon stands beside the wall, waiting while Baz inspects everything. Looking for things to criticize, he's sure. Baz checks the pantry, then the fridge, and then proceeds to give Simon an unimpressed look. "Were you planning on eating takeout for every meal, everyday?" he asks.

Yes. "No."

"No?"

"I haven't had time to go, uh, grocery shopping," he doesn't answer the question, fidgeting uncomfortably. Why does Simon feel the need to explain himself? Why is Baz here in the first place? Why doesn't Simon just kick him out? His comments certainly aren't reason not to.

Baz looks at him like he doesn't believe a word he's saying, and Simon finds himself growing more irritated. Baz cocks his head towards the living room. "Too busy with interior designing?"

Simon frowns. "Is there anything you want in particular, or are you just here to antagonize me?"

Baz finally stops and leans against the cupboards. He fixes his eyes on Simon's, and just as years before, his gaze is so intense that Simon finds it hard to look away. He sighs, like what he's about to say is physically painful to utter. "I owe you," he manages at last.

Simon's brows furrow. He's more than confused at this point, but then again Baz never made sense to him. "What are you talking about?"

"You found out what happened to my mother. What...really happened to her. I owe you," Baz explains as if he should already know this. "And I don't like owing people, so let's get this over with."

"I don't need any favors from you," Simon says, annoyed as well as angry now.

Baz doesn't seem fazed. "I don't really care what you think you need or don't need."

He's impossible. Absolutely impossible. He's always been impossible, always will be. Simon forces himself to calm down. "Okay, so, you, uh, you owe me. You're repaying me by staring at my things like they're garbage?"

Baz gives him an almost pitying look. Simon hates it. "Your things  _are_ garbage, Snow. Full offense."

"They are not," Simon says weakly as he looks back at the superglued table leg.

It doesn't seem like Baz is even listening to him. He again glances around the place with obvious disgust. "Did you even mop the floor? Dust the corners? Scrub the walls? You know this place doesn't come pre-cleaned right? For all we know, there could be cum stains everywhere."

Simon scrunches his nose at that, and Baz rolls his eyes. When Simon gets over his disgust, he stares helplessly. How had he ever thought he could live alone? Without Penelope? It's not like he chose this. She's the one who decided to leave. He shakes the thought out of his head. He shouldn't feel bitter about Penelope wanting to be with the man she loves. He's a better friend than that. "Calm down," Baz snaps him out of his thoughts. It makes Simon uneasy knowing he can still read him so well. "Go take a shower. I'll start cleaning."

"You're repaying me by cleaning my place?" Simon asks slowly.

"I'm saving your life," Baz says pointedly. "Two more weeks in this hole, and you'd be dead. Now go."

"I can help," Simon protests.

"You can help when you're done showering," Baz gives him a shove towards the bathroom. "You smell awful."

"Do not," Simon mutters on his way.

Without his consent, his brain spends his entire shower time reliving his last year at Watford. It's bittersweet, with emphasis on the bitter part of the word. He'd walked into school that first day set on making it a memorable year. Little did he know, memorable could be bad. He spent two years plagued with nightmares and breakdowns after graduation.

That year was the year the Humdrum came to an end and the Old Families took a step back and the truth about Baz's mother was found out. Everyone's always talking about how that was Simon and Penelope's doing. It's not untrue, but they were just kids accompanied with dumb luck. A week after the big showdown, heroism had kind of grown old for both of them. No one cared that they were only nineteen, or that they'd never be completely mentally stable again, or that they'd wasted their teen years fighting two wars, or that Simon lost both his magic and the only father figure he'd ever had. The only people who truly understood their struggles were each other, and Simon thought they'd be together for the long run. So when Penelope broke it to him that she'd be moving to the U.S., Simon felt everything they'd built for the past seven years slip away. Nonetheless, he tried to be as supportive as possible.

When he comes out, hair still wet and his clothes all damp from the heat, he finds Baz standing on his toes, trying to reach the top of the upper cupboard. It makes him smile. Just a little. "Why don't you just spell it clean?" Simon asks from behind him. Baz isn't startled.

" _Clean as a whistle_  doesn't clean thoroughly," Baz glares at him, reaching higher. "We can use it on the other rooms, but not the kitchen and the bathroom."

The use of we makes Simon's build shrink. He's over losing his magic, he really is, but in recent years, he's never actually talked about it with anyone other than Penelope and his therapist. Hearing Baz discuss it with him like this, so casually, like he doesn't even care that Simon is practically a Normal now, has his chest itching with an emotion Simon can't put his finger on.

"You missed a spot," Simon points at a random corner, and Baz throws the towel he's holding at his face. Simon laughs silently and catches it.

He starts yawning a little after 11:30, and Baz tells him to leave.

"Go to sleep."

"I'm not leaving you without supervision."

"You're ridiculous. And paranoid."

"You're infuriating. And I can still help."

"Whatever, Chosen One. You're no use to me when you can't keep your eyes open."

Simon winces at the title and hurries away immediately after that to put on his pajamas. Normally, he'd never leave Baz all alone in his place, but he'd shared a room with him for eight years. Back then, however, Baz  _couldn't_ injure him or he'd get himself kicked out. Whatever, Simon's too tired to care about his wellbeing. "Goodnight," he calls to Baz from the bedroom now.

"Don't get too comfortable in your sheets," Baz answers back. "You're buying new ones tomorrow. And a new mattress. That one looks like it came straight from a junkyard."

Simon groans and falls back on his bed.

He wakes up reasonably early as he always does and finds Baz asleep on his couch. He hesitates, wondering if he should get him a blanket. It seems a little weird, but Simon would feel bad if he left him without one after he spent all night helping him. He only has one, though, so he removes the messed up sheet from his bed and carefully lays it on Baz. Mostly because it'd be incredibly embarrassing if he woke up and found Simon...caring for him. Also because asleep Baz looks like a child, and he doesn't talk, which is a huge bonus.

Simon ends up avoiding the living room after that, afraid to wake him, and finishes up the kitchen. When his hands start to tire an hour later, he puts down the cleaning supplies (all Baz's) and sits on the floor against the fridge. He pulls out his phone to quickly shoot Penelope a text and puts it away.

In what world is this a possible scenario? Eighteen year old Simon hadn't thought this would be an outcome. It was either Baz or him— one had to go. Never had he thought that he'd live to be twenty six in an apartment of his own. Never had he thought he'd have a tired, soap-smelling Baz Pitch sleeping in his living room voluntarily.

Baz groans from the living room. "You're definitely getting a new couch."

Simon frowns. He likes this couch. "Why? Are you planning on sleeping here often?"

Groggily pushing himself up, Baz rubs his eyes and then glares at him when his vision clears. "You're lazy and dumb. I don't doubt you'll sleep on it more than your own bed."

"I don't appreciate being insulted first thing in the morning."

"I don't appreciate you moving in right beside me."

Simon rolls his eyes. "Why do you live here anyway? I'm surprised you didn't end up buying, like, a mansion or something."

Baz slept in the same clothes he came over in, and they're all wrinkled and messy as he makes his way over to Simon. "I like the small space," he yawns, glancing around the kitchen, and just like that, they're onto the next topic. Simon wants to ask more about the mansion thing, because he's not buying the small space excuse, but he doesn't. "The other rooms should be easier to clean."

"The other rooms?" Simon complains. "Can't I just...live solely in the kitchen?"

Baz scoffs. "I'm going to go get dressed. Put your shoes on, we're going grocery shopping."

"Why can't I go alone?" Simon calls after him, watching him walk away. "It's not like you particularly enjoy my company."

Baz stops in front of the door and turns to look at him from the corner of his eyes. "Have you eaten?"

"What?" Simon stares. "Uh, no. You threw out my Chinese takeout."

"And for good reason. Come on, then."

"What? Where?"

"You can raid my kitchen while I clean up," Baz says and doesn't wait for Simon before he leaves the apartment. Simon shuffles after him quickly, confused and a little freaked out. He's not gonna refuse free food, but this whole thing, Baz helping him out and actually being nice to him, well, as nice as Baz can be, is a little weird. Simon reminds himself that Baz is only doing this because he feels compelled to.

Simon wants to tell him to stop, but Baz wouldn't listen anyway. He's hotheaded and stubborn, Simon knows that hasn't changed over the past few years. He could tell the moment Baz walked into his apartment.

The thing is, Baz  _shouldn't_ owe Simon. Finding out what happened to Baz's mother came along with hunting down the Humdrum. It's not like Simon set out to find the truth about her death, though he's glad he did. As much as he detests Baz, he's glad he got to help him find closure. No one should go around not knowing the truth about their parents. Simon knows how shitty that is.

He feels a small amount of guilt, knowing that Baz is wasting his time helping Simon, but it's not like he  _asked_ for this. In fact, he'd insisted against it.

He loses his train of thought once he walks through Baz's door. The inside of Baz's apartment looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine. Clean and cozy and a place that you'd want to bring people back to. "Don't make a mess," Baz points at the kitchen even though the place is identical to Simon's (except it's not gross) and walks to his room.

"I'm not a child," Simon rolls his eyes. "Hey, dude, can I live here?" Simon calls out again once he opens Baz's fridge. He tries to think of a food that  _isn't_ in there, and finds that his brain comes up blank.

"No," Baz answers back.

Considering he doesn't know how to actually cook anything other than instant noodles, he pulls a chocolate chip granola bar from one of the cupboards. He's chewing on it and sitting on the counter when Baz walks back into the kitchen, buttoning his shirt. "There are perfectly good chairs right there," he rolls his eyes.

Simon shrugs. "Why do you have so much food? Do you not live alone?" Maybe with a special someone, actually, since there's only one bedroom that's not even that big. Simon squirms, uncomfortable at the thought of being in someone else's home and maybe even having to meet them. Interacting with one person has been tiring enough, and Simon's a big believer in baby steps.

"Do you want tea?" Baz asks, ignoring his question as he starts to make himself coffee.

"No," he shakes his head. "So...no roommates?"

Baz lifts a brow at the repetition but answers nonetheless. "No. No roommates."

The knot in Simon's stomach slowly comes undone and his back relaxes.   
  
  


Simon can't find Baz. The isles are too crowded, and he's used to holding on to the back of Penelope's shirt or her hand. She never did mind, knowing how often he got lost and how panicked he got when he did. It feels like everyone's staring at him. Logically, he knows no one gives a shit, but it doesn't make the itch in his shoulders go away.

He's this close to having a panic attack, but a hand clasps around his wrist, and then Baz is pulling him away into an empty space. "I look away for three seconds..." he grumbles.

Simon normally would throw back a bad retort and pull his arm away, putting as much space between him and Baz as possible. Now, though, he shuffles even closer and tries to even out his breathing. If Baz notices how strange he's acting, he doesn't say anything.

He glances into the cart and frowns, quickly forgetting the breakdown he almost had. "Hey. Where are all my things?"

Baz gives him an incredulous look. "Frosting? Three boxes of pop tarts? How many twinkies do you think you're capable of eating?"

"A lot, for your information," Simon says. "Why'd you take them out?"

"I'm trying to help you get your life together, not die of diabetes."

Simon turns his gaze back to the cart. "What is all this stuff? I don't even know how to cook."

"Shocking," Baz murmurs as he checks the back of a can of beans. Simon's face scrunches up at the thought of putting that anywhere near his mouth. "I'll teach you the basics, just so you don't starve."

Simon rolls his eyes. "Thanks. Can I get some chips?"

"No."

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to snack on?"

"Carrot sticks."

"That is..." Simon trails off as he marches after Baz, not wanting to get lost again. "Disgusting."

Baz gives him an amused look over his shoulder. Simon briefly wonders how that's even possible, how someone can look amused without the slightest quirk of their lips. "Your dietary habits are disgusting."

"I still don't understand why I couldn't go on my own," Simon shakes his head and picks up a family size bag of gummy bears, which Baz immediately snatches from his hands.

"Yeah," he eyes the bag. "Me neither." Simon laughs a little at that and follows Baz, letting him do all the shopping. What did he know about nutrition anyway? "Whole wheat, brown, or white?" Baz asks, nodding at the bread in front of them.

"Um..." Simon tugs at the bottom of his shirt. "I don't know? What's the difference between brown and whole wheat?"

"The difference between brown and whole wheat?" Baz repeats slowly. "How have you survived this far on your own?"

"Not on my own," Simon frowns. "Penelope did the grocery shopping, and it was mostly just cereal and frozen pizza."

Baz hums his understanding. "Where is Bunce, anyway? Finally get tired of you?" When Simon doesn't reply, he looks back at him, and the sight of his eyes glued to the floor and the corners of his lips tilted too far down makes Baz sigh. "Okay," he says strongly enough that it makes Simon look back up at him. "One tub of frosting. The smallest size, and no cream cheese. And you better not finish it all within the week."

Simon beams.

When they pay, he slips a bag of mini reece's cups on the counter before Baz can stop him. "You can have a couple," Simon says with a sheepish smile when he glares at him.

"If you get any chocolate on my car, I will push you out of it while it's still moving," Baz threatens as they carry the bags to the black vehicle. Simon shrugs.

"Where are we going now now?" Simon asks from the passenger seat, turning so he can sit against the window and look at Baz.

The movement catches Baz's attention. "That's dangerous."

Simon snorts. "Since when do you care about my safety?"

Baz doesn't reply to the last question and instead just says, "Home." For a minute, Simon thinks of his previous apartment. He thinks of Penelope sitting all bundled up with her book too close to her face and her forgotten tea getting colder by the second. He thinks of the expression she makes when she takes a sip and realizes it's stone cold, how she'd shudder and spell it hot again, just to leave it for too long all over again. Suddenly his stomach doesn't feel so good.

"Penelope's in America," he mumbles miserably, opening his packet of reece's. He never thought he could feel sad with chocolate sitting right in front of him. He offers one to Baz who just shakes his head.

The silence only lasts a couple seconds, and Simon thinks Baz might just ignore him. He doesn't. "For the summer?"

"Forever," Simon says, but that sounds too dramatic so he tries again, "I mean, she might come back to visit, but she lives there now, I guess." For some reason, Simon always ends his sentences with 'I guess' when 90% of the time he's certain. This instance doesn't fall within the remaining 10%.

Baz doesn't say anything after that, and Simon appreciates it. He feels pathetic enough as it is, and the old Baz would've just rubbed salt into the wound. Maybe people do change. Or Baz just doesn't want to talk to him. Both are fine.

They sit in silence listening to Baz's music, which, surprisingly, isn't really that bad. Simon lets his eyes roam over him, trying to count every detail about him that's changed over the years.

His hair's still black and shiny and wavy and looks like silk, but it's about an inch longer and Baz doesn't brush it back anymore. The clothes he wears are a lot more casual, and he doesn't scowl as much. His resting face is less 'I will kill you', and more 'I will kill you but only if you bother me'. Oh, and his driving's certainly improved. Simon smiles thinking about the time in eighth year when Baz almost ran over him and then blamed Simon for it. They argued about it for two days straight, and then Baz locked him out of their room the third night.

Baz catches him smiling to himself and shakes his head. "Weirdo," he mumbles, and Simon runs a hand over his face, trying to smooth out his cheeks, but it doesn't work.

"Hey," he says, pointing at Baz, who's still staring at the grin on his face. "Eyes on the road."

 

Baz is almost asleep when his doorbell rings. He frowns into the soft material of his pillow. He just got comfortable, and his eyelids and limbs are so heavy, and for a second, he considers giving into his mattress and leaving whoever's outside waiting for the rest of the night.

He doesn't, though, because who else would be knocking on his door at this time? With a low moan, he leaves the comfort of his bed and drags himself to the front door where, inevitably, Simon Snow is waiting for him with tired eyes and a pillow clutched in his hands. "Can I sleep on your couch?" he croaks, and Baz notices the way his grip tightens as he asks.

Baz leans against the doorway. His eyes go from the mess that is Simon's hair, which looks like it's been tugged and pulled at to no end, to the bags under his eyes, to the way his lips curve downward, forming almost a pout.

He forces his gaze back to Simon's eyes. "What's wrong with your bed?"

Simon's eyes flit from corner to corner, looking anywhere but at Baz. "Um," he licks his lips and brings a hand to the back of his neck, pulling the pillow to his chest with his other one. "This is gonna sound, like, really stupid, and you can make fun of me in the morning, but I can't—uh, usually when I can't sleep, Penelope will let me, like, talk to her or sleep in her bed or whatever, and, I mean, obviously I'm not gonna ask you to do any of that, but—yeah, anyway, the apartment—my apartment, it's weird having the whole space to myself. Can I sleep on your couch?"

Baz steps aside, letting Simon know it's okay to come in. He doesn't let himself think too much about the relief in Simon's eyes or the way he pauses a little when he walks in and their shoulders bump.

"I have spare pillows," he says quietly as he watches Simon arrange his at one end of the couch.

Simon sits at the edge of the cushion awkwardly. "Yeah...didn't really think that one through."

Baz watches him and contemplates offering his own bed, and then hates himself for being this soft for Simon, even after years of not seeing him. The whole tussled, messy hair thing isn't helping, either.

After pulling a blanket out of his closet, he drops it beside Simon on the couch and, after not thinking it through, sits on the other end. Simon looks at him expectantly, and Baz knows he should say something, anything. Offer comfort maybe (and unlikely, to be frank), or wish him goodnight and leave, or make him laugh so the uneasiness Baz is feeling fades away, but all possible words are clogged up in his throat and can't find their way out.

Simon breaks the silence first. "You don't—you can go back to bed," he mumbles, and Baz can tell he's embarrassed. He doesn't say he's sorry, but a silent apology floats in the air.

"It's fine," Baz stands up, his exhaustion wearing him down. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Simon calls after him as he walks away. Right before Baz enters his room, Simon says his name just loud enough that it stops Baz in his tracks. He turns around and tilts his head, waiting. Simon offers a small smile. "Thanks. You know, for opening the door."

Baz pauses. "You don't need to thank me. I didn't know it was you."

They both know that's not true, but Simon lets him off the hook.

Baz wakes up to the blanket messily folded on his couch and a note stuck on his door.

**thank u!! also ur couch is literally more comfortable than my bed. maybe u were right about buying a new mattress. —Simon**   
  
  


Simon's apartment is all done now. It's been pretty much done for a few weeks, but that doesn't stop Baz and Simon from spending almost every second of everyday together.

Simon comes over for breakfast everyday and sits on the counter next to the stove even as Baz tells him it's not safe. He'll talk and laugh when Baz interrupts with a smartass comment and watch him make the food, not leaving for the living room until Baz does too. Baz constantly tells him that if he's gonna annoy him while he's cooking, he should at least try to take some mental notes so he can cook for himself. Simon rolls his eyes and asks why that would be necessary when he has his own personal chef right there. One time, as Baz got ready to leave for work, Simon held his briefcase out for him as a joke, like some sort of trophy wife, and jumped to the side with a loud laugh when Baz tried to push him.

If one of them has to run an errand (usually Baz), the other tags along, and more often than not, Baz finds himself dragging Simon along to different stores to buy him new things, mostly clothes. The poor kid doesn't have one non ripped or stained shirt. If they have nothing to do, they spend the day lazily sitting on Baz's couch watching bad sitcoms.

It's killing Baz, being that close to him all the time but not being able to reach out and graze his jaw with the tips of his fingers. Not being able to look at him for too long in fear of being caught staring. It was easier in school. Then, at least, he hadn't been able to realistically imagine what it'd be like to have such a close relationship with Simon. Now it's all he can think about.

He's thinking about it right now as he watches Simon take another sip of his drink and throw his head back, only for it to hit the head of the couch. His groan is interrupted by a whine when Baz reaches over and snatches the glass out of his hand. He came home from work only to find Simon raiding his alcohol cabinet.

"I think you've had enough," Baz tells him, swatting his hand away as Simon tries to reach for the glass again. Baz had a few drinks with him, but he can hold his liquor  _much_ better than Simon can. In fact, he thinks anyone can hold their liquor better than Simon. It took a couple glasses for him to get woozy and fall onto the couch.

Simon scoffs, his bottom lip sticking out. "I don't remember you being this much of a buzzkill in fifth year," he teases, referring to the many times he found Baz drinking in the Catacombs.

Baz doesn't give into the smile tugging at his lips, his practiced poker face coming in handy, not like Simon's gonna vividly remember this tomorrow anyway. Sighing loudly, Simon drops his head onto the pillow at the end of the couch, arm falling onto face to cover his eyes, and raises his legs so he's lying horizontally with his feet resting on Baz's thighs. The fluttering in Baz's stomach subsides as amusement takes over.

"Panda socks?" he asks with a raised brow.

Simon peeks at him through his fingers and gives a lazy smile. "It was buy two, get one free. I got an alligator pair and a puppy pair."

"The only time you're willing to spend money on clothes without me forcing you is when you're getting socks?" Baz gives him an unimpressed look.

Simon answers his questions with another. "Can I have my drink back?"

"No."

"You know," Simon starts, blinking his eyes at Baz. The alcohol's made them bluer. "You're, like, awful, really. And annoying. But you're really growing on me," he says, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Kind of like—oh, like mold, right?"

"Like mold," Baz repeats, and this time, he can't keep the corners of his lips from lifting just slightly.

Simon nods vigorously, and his laugh could be considered a giggle if it weren't so muffled by the cushions. Baz wants to reach out, grab his chin, and pull his face away from the pillows so he can hear the sound properly, knowing it'd do nothing but painfully pull at his heart strings.

"I can't believe we used to, like, completely hate each other in school," Simon sighs, and he's not exactly slurring his words, but it's obvious he's drunk out of his mind. Baz mentally notes the fact that he says 'like' after every other word when he's hammered. He does it when he's sober as well, but it's excessive now.

Baz nudges his ankle with his hand and then doesn't move it so it's just sitting there. "I still completely hate you," he points out.

Simon ignores him. "Like," he says loudly with wide eyes, like he's just made a shocking discovery. "All the time we wasted not watching home makeover shows together."

Baz doesn't let himself to get too lost in thoughts about what could've been. "Watford didn't have any TVs."

"That is so besides the point."

"It isn't."

Simon groans. "You're impossible."

A while later, he finally stops talking, and when Baz looks back at him, he finds him staring at the ceiling with a very solemn expression. Before he decides on whether to ask what that's all about, Simon goes ahead and asks, "When they told you, what did you think?"

Baz is more confused than he was before Simon started speaking. "When who told me what?"

Simon gives a laugh. "Well, I don't know  _who_ told you. When I lost my magic, I mean. What did you think?"

The topic takes him back to the night he was told what happened to Simon and his sidekick. Just thinking about it makes him feel like he's being punched in the stomach repeatedly. He couldn't sleep for days at the time, tossing and turning and worrying about Simon. He hadn't cared about his lost magic, he just wanted— _needed_  to know that Simon was alright. But Simon hadn't come back to school, and he couldn't ask his family. It would've arose too many questions.

How could he have phrased it?  _I know I should be delighted and take the news delivered to me on a silver platter as it is, but just for a laugh, how about you tell me about how that dumbass Snow is doing? Even better, how about you let me see him?_ He and Simon weren't exactly friendly. He couldn't go around asking about him.

He considered going to Bunce multiple times, but even she wasn't her usual self. She got even better grades than she did the first semester, but she had eye bags darker than Baz's hair and looked a thousand miles away when anyone spoke to her. She left every weekend to go see Simon, and she always came back more easy and relieved than she was throughout the week. That was what kept Baz sane.

He clears his throat. "My father told me, and then he gave me a beer and made a toast. I think he was mostly happy about the Mage."

Simon doesn't flinch when Baz mentions his mentor, though he thought he would. Baz underestimated him. Then again, years of people asking him about the same night, the worse night of his life, must've taken their toll on him. Baz wishes he could hold him.

"I figured," Simon hums. "But what did  _you_ think?"

"I thought," Baz starts strongly and looks right at Simon. "It was either your magic or you, and I was happy with the result." Simon gives him the smallest smile, but the way it's shaped on his mouth is so different than usual. It's the softest one he's directed at Baz yet.

It does indescribable things to Baz's dead heart. He's seen the way Simon smiled at people, his playfulness with their classmates, the way he made people like him after one conversation. Having those things be directed at him for once, after so many years of longing for them...he couldn't say how it made him feel. Literally couldn't. He hasn't decided how he feels.

As fast as the topic was sprung up, it was over. Simon's back to being a dumb goofy drunk. Baz doesn't even know whether Simon will remember their conversation in the morning, but he hopes he will. That smile wasn't meaningless.

"Baz," Simon says louder than necessary, and Baz commits the way his name sounds coming from his lips to memory. Instead of answering, Baz pinches the skin on Simon's shin. Other than a slight jump, Simon doesn't react. "I want..." Simon trails, and Baz holds his breath waiting for the end of the sentence. "I want gummy bears."

"Riveting stuff," Baz snorts, pushing Simon's legs to the ground so he can get up. He'd tell Simon to go to the kitchen himself if he thought he could take two steps without falling flat on his ass. Halfway there, though, he realizes how funny it'd have been and curses out loud. Simon, one drink away from blacking out, doesn't think anything of it.

Baz fleetly wonders if Simon was thinking about turning into a Normal when Baz was at work, and if that was reason Baz found him trying to drink himself to death. Even more than before he wishes Simon would remember their conversation. He needs him to know that Baz doesn't care a bit.

"How many do you want?" Baz calls.

"Just fuck me up," Simon yells, and Baz lets himself laugh a little behind the kitchen walls.

When Baz just tosses the whole bag Simon's way, Simon stares at it with real heart eyes. Then he goes back and forth between stuffing his face, begging Baz to let him have some vodka with the gummies, and blurting out general nonsense.

"You know how you get literally locked out of Watford if you hurt your roommate?" Simon mumbles.

"Yes, I do know. It's the only thing that stopped me from murdering you in your sleep at school," Baz gives an ironic laugh.

Simon grins like Baz didn't just tell him he wanted to kill him. "Have you ever thought about what would happen if there's some...consensual spanking going on?"

"Simon—"

"I'm serious."

"Please, for the love of fuck, shut up. Preferably, never speak again." Baz is holding his head in his hands. Simon laughs, and when he finally stops talking, Baz looks over to him only to find his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. He doesn't allow himself to look for too long before getting up to go to the kitchen. He grabs a glass and fills it with water for when Simon wakes up hungover as hell in the morning, but when he goes back to the living room, the couch is empty.

Pursing his lips, he slowly walks to his room, and he feels himself melt as soon as he sees Simon curled up around a long pillow on one side of the bed. He sets the water on the bedside table with some aspirin and stands aside to assess the situation.

If Simon mentions the nice gesture in the morning, Baz'll deny it. If Simon keeps pushing, Baz'll have to resort to his old methods and shove him down the apartment stairs.

Ten minutes later, he slips in under the covers and closes his eyes, hoping the bed is large enough for the both of them.

He wakes up on a soft but steady surface and thinks he ended up cuddling into Simon at some point during the night, but when he opens his eyes, the realization that it's just one of his sturdier pillows sinks in, and he pushes his face further into it. He squeezes it tighter once he feels Simon turn around in his sleep and tangle his legs with Baz's.  
  
  


Simon doesn't come over for breakfast one Tuesday, and Baz unsuccessfully tries not to worry. He spends the entire work day distracted and frowning, sneering at anyone who looks at him the wrong way. People who normally try to avoid him in fear of bursting into tears run into random rooms when they see him coming their way.

(Making people cry isn't actually on his agenda. It's just the suit and the high position and the resting bitch face that intimidate everyone. It's why he's always found himself drawn to Simon. When everyone else avoided eye contact and took the long way to class so they wouldn't have to bump into him, Simon picked fights and growled and glared and got all up in Baz's face. Baz loved it. Loves it.)

He should've checked up on him. He'd spent ten minutes in the morning wondering whether or not he should go over and knock on Simon's door, but that would've just been pathetic. Also, Simon would've gotten smug about Baz wanting him over for breakfast, and they can't have that.

His concern about his pride seems dumb now as he sits behind his desk, gripping the edge of the wood so hard, his nails might leave marks on the surface. He's overreacting. He should just call him.

Yeah. Calling is normal, right? Friends call each other. Phone calls don't mean anything.

He can't get one word out when Simon picks up because he's immediately ranting—screaming, rather. "Baz! Good! Hey! Listen! Um, you know how, like, you keep telling me to, uh, buy a new mattress, and I keep saying no? Yeah, about that. Uh, yeah, we should do that. Soon. Like today. Please."

The relief Baz feels when he hears Simon's voice is annoying. And uncomfortable. But he's not so tense anymore and the fifty pounds that settled into his stomach when Simon failed to show up suddenly aren't there anymore and he can actually feel the corners of his lips start to turn upwards when he imagines Simon pacing back and forth in his living room, hand running through his hair with a wild look in his eyes and nervous laughter escaping his mouth.

"What did you do?" Baz murmurs, amused and leaning on his hand.

"Nothing!" Simon exclaims defensively. "But also my mattress is currently in the living room and there's a gigantic slash like right in the middle."

"What?"

"Long story. Can you pick me up when you get off?"

Baz frowns, but it doesn't exactly represent the electricity that buzzes through him at the thought of seeing Simon soon. Get it together, you sappy fuck. You saw him yesterday. He clears his throat. "Sure. But give me a minute to change."

"Why?" Simon asks, and it's unbelievable how worked up he was only a second ago. Baz will never understand how he's capable of going from  _chaos is spreading and everything is awful_ to  _meltdowns? don't know them, never had one_  in less than a minute. "You look good in suits."

Baz ignores the compliment. He ignores it because if he focuses too much on it, he'll grow hopeful, and hope is soul crushing. Even though he doesn't address it directly, it doesn't stop the spread of warmth in his chest. "I'm not going mattress shopping in a suit."

It's quiet for a second, and then... "Suit yourself," Simon says, and his grin is almost audible.

Baz hangs up the phone.  
  
  


Having met indecisive people before, Baz thought he had a healthy measure of patience. Never had he known someone like Simon Snow, though.

It's not that he can't decide between the mattresses because he can't tell which one he likes best, it's that he genuinely has no opinion on any of them. He's said the exact same thing about each of them so far: "This one's okay, I guess."

Also, he's very easily distracted, and for someone with absolutely no sense of direction, that can be a problem. Baz is on the verge of grabbing his hand and not letting go under any circumstances, and it's not even because he really (really) wants to make out with him, but because Simon can't go two minutes without accidentally trailing away.

And Merlin, he's so clueless. He almost bought a twin sized mattress for his queen sized bed when Baz wasn't looking, and that was only after twenty minutes of bickering because Simon wanted to go eat at the cafeteria first, and Baz had to remind him over and over again that they'd already eaten at the cafe right across their building. Baz suspects that the only reason Simon chose IKEA was for the food and the stuffed animals.

His frustration probably shows as he aggressively flips through a catalogue, scaring multiple kids. And their parents. He's glaring a woman down when Simon calls out to him, and Baz swears he's at least fifteen feet further than he was five minutes ago

If Baz thought Simon couldn't possibly piss him off even more than he already has, he was wrong. He turns to find him sprawled out on one of the make belief beds, hands flat against the blanket and the 'Please do not sleep on the mattresses' sign so close to him that Baz wonders if Simon needs glasses.

"I think I like this one," Simon says contentedly.

"Oh my god, Snow, you actual imbecile," Baz hisses, checking around to see if there are any employees around. They can't get kicked out before they buy anything, they just can't. If the past two hours become a waste of his time, Baz might run Simon over with his car. "Get off the bed."

Simon only grins at him. "How am I supposed to know if it's comfortable enough to sleep on if I don't test it out? Maybe that's why I couldn't decide before."

Baz strides over until he's standing beside the bed and stares down at him. Flashbacks of them sleeping on the same bed, of Baz waking up not cold for once, covered in Simon's warmth hit him without his consent, and he's thankful for the small size of the deer he emptied last night. At least now he can't turn pink like an idiot.

He pushes them away, the thoughts. It's not something he wants to think of right now or allow himself access to.

He concentrates on his irritation instead. "The levels are written on the tag, are you illiterate?"

Shrugging as best as he can while lying down, Simon argues, "But they're not accurate."

"Yes. Yes, they are."

"I like this one," Simon repeats, then after a pause adds, "Do you think it's soft enough?"

Baz rolls his eyes, not bothering to hide how annoyed he's feeling. Simon was fine with any of the mattresses just half an hour ago, and now he wants to know if this one is soft enough? "I'm sure it's fine. Get up, we have to go pay before you get us kicked out."

Simon turns on his side, looking up at him through his lashes. "Stop being so dramatic," he huffs out a laugh. "Just sit on the edge and tell me what you think."

It doesn't take more than that for Baz to give in, but he grits his teeth as he settles on the bed, nonetheless, figuring it's the best way to shut Simon up and get him on his feet. Literally. And then he's immediately frowning because oh. The bed is comfortable. No wonder the dumbass can't get himself to stand up.

"Yeah. It's good," Baz says slowly. "Let's go."

Simon looks like he's stifling a yawn. God, Baz needs to get him out of here before he actually falls asleep. "Lie down for a second," Simon mumbles, and he's going to be the death of Baz.

"No."

"Just for a second."

"No."

"Baz—"

"No."

"Please," he drags. "Just, like, for a second opinion."

He never was good at refusing him.

With a sigh, Baz pushes himself onto his back, all the kinks in his neck and shoulders that have been there since morning slowly coming undone. He has to hold back a another sigh, a pleased one this time, and it's so nice he forgets they're not allowed to do this. They're not allowed because one, the rules, and two, Baz's sanity. He turns his head to tell Simon that yes, he should buy the mattress, and that anything is an improvement from his piece of shit old one, only to find he's already looking at him.

His eyes are way too bright up close and he's still smiling that sunshine grin of his, not even aware of what it's doing to Baz's chest, and their noses are almost touching and Baz's palms are getting clammy, a rare occurrence since he's usually so... together, and he wants to kiss him but he knows if he doesn't look away he'll end up staring at Simon's lips.

He tears his eyes away from Simon's and pushes him, just a little, but it sends Simon jolting and soon enough he's on the floor, rubbing his forehead with a whine. Baz shouldn't laugh, but he does, all his previous worries fading. Simon's head snaps up, and then he's beaming up at him like he didn't just hit his head so hard he might need to see a doctor. He gets up too quick than his body can process and has to hold on to the back of the bed as to not fall again, but the smile on his face remains intact.

He's dusting himself when he says, "If I knew me getting hurt would make you laugh, I would've done it more often."

Baz has to restrain himself from begging him not to say things like that. It's how Simon is with everyone, but Baz doubts he'd keep acting this way if he knew the reality of Baz's feelings.

He rises to his feet and starts walking to the nearest employee, not checking to see if Simon's following him. He knows he is, just like Simon would know Baz would always be right behind him.

It doesn't take long before they're walking out of the store with the promise that Simon's new mattress will be delivered to his door in a weeks time. "I can't believe I'm the proud new owner of a mattress with zero rips and zero stains," Simon sniffles, looking back at the exit they just walked through.

Baz scoffs. "Lets hope it stays that way." Simon bumps their shoulder, and the bag he's holding rubs against Baz's jeans. Baz shakes his head. "We come for a mattress and you leave with colored markers."

Simon glances down at his purchase and the light from the sun hits his eyes and hair. "You wouldn't let me have their famous meatballs, I think—"

"You're supposed to be thanking me, they're disgusting."

"Clearly, you've never actually had them."

"Doesn't mean I don't know they're awful. It's an internationally accepted fact."

Simon stops him by grabbing his wrist. Baz looks down at it then back up at him, quirking a brow. "We have to go back inside," Simon insists, tugging at his sleeve.

"What?"

"You have to try the meatballs," Simon tries pulling him, but Baz doesn't move an inch. Years of being on the soccer team and going to the gym at least three times a week have certainly contributed to his build. Simon huffs out a disappointed breath.

"I'm not having dinner at IKEA."

"Fine. Call it an after lunch snack."

"Do you usually have meatballs as snacks?"

"If available, yes."

It's hard to stop the conversation, but Baz has to. He knows if he doesn't, it could go on for hours nonstop because once they start, they get lost in the teasing and the rude comments that don't actually mean anything but leave both of them amused that time goes by so fast without them realizing it. And Baz isn't exactly easy on the idea of spending his entire night in an IKEA's parking lot.

Baz fixes his gaze on Simon. "I went from work straight to here, I don't know how many hours that is, but I miss my couch."

Simon gives a fake gasp. "Baz Pitch? Tired?"

That draws out a small smile. "Do you not see the bags under my eyes?"

The atmosphere shifts noticeably. He means it as a joke, even expects Simon to laugh and keep nagging about the appalling meatballs. What comes as a shock is the instantaneous softness that relaxes into his features and the concern in his eyes and the loosening grip on Baz's wrist. "I do," he admits guiltily, like somehow it's his fault. "You work too much."

Baz's throat closes up and he struggles to find words that would successfully ease Simon's worry. This shouldn't surprise him or catch him off guard in any way, Simon showing concern for his wellbeing, but it does. And Baz doesn't know how to react.

Apparently, Simon isn't even expecting a response because he keeps walking. Not towards IKEA where his stomach is most likely willing him to go, but to Baz's car. He doesn't look back, sure that Baz is following him. And he is.  
  
  


Baz's eyelids are heavy and begging for him to go to sleep. More than once he almost dozed off, but he caught himself before he could. He has to go to work tomorrow, and he only got four hours of sleep last night, but Simon still hasn't went home (can Baz even call Simon's apartment his home? He can swear Simon spends seventy percent of his time at Baz's place).

And to be honest, Baz would pull several all nighters if it meant having more time to talk to Simon.

There's a dull aching in his back that he knows would be cured by the softness of his bed, but he doesn't make any move to get up. Thoughts of his bed remind him of why they had to go buy Simon a new one in the first place. He pushes himself up, and the sound of his clothes rubbing against the cushions catch Simon's attention, making him stop in the middle of his sentence.

"What happened to your mattress?" Baz asks, resting his cheek on his palm.

His living room is fairly dark as they only have one of the lamps turned on, but Baz doesn't miss the rosy hue spreading on Simon's face and the sheepish smile on his lips. "I was trying to take it to the living room, and the edge of the table cut it."

Baz gives him an unimpressed look. "Why would you do that?"

Simon throws a pillow at him. "I didn't ruin it on purpose, you twat."

Baz throws it right back, but he's so exhausted, it's almost like he's just tossing it to Simon. His arm immediately falls back down. "I mean, why were you taking it to the living room, you dumbass."

Simons eyes trail away. "That is confidential," he says sharply, and Baz snorts.

"My ass. Don't make me ask again."

That makes Simon grin. He barks out a laugh, and he looks as delighted as he did when he thought they'd be going to the IKEA cafeteria. "Oh, yeah? Or what?"

Baz knows they're treading dangerous waters and that this could get out of hand very quickly. It would mean nothing to Simon, but Baz would spend the next three days losing sleep over one insignificant conversation. However, he was never very good at controlling his mouth when it came to Snow. His smirk is involuntary when he meets Simon's eye again. "You don't wanna know."

After Simon finishes laughing, they hold eye contact for a second too long but it's not awkward. Simon looks over the moon. Maybe he's romantically deprived and wants any sort of flirtation he can get. Should Baz should take him to a club or something? Simon doesn't seem to be able to go anywhere on his own. Then again, Baz doesn't seem to mind.

Something touches his thigh, and Baz jumps a little. Simon  _giggles_  (which he'd normally never let himself do in front of Baz. It must be the late hour.) With visible effort to stop himself from lunging at Simon, he glances down at Simon's foot that had nudged him a second earlier. Simon laughs again, which normally Baz finds endearing. Now he just wants to push Simon down a flight of stairs, for old times sakes.

"You couldn't call my name like a normal person?" Baz grumbles and pushes Simon's foot off the couch. He wishes Simon would stop smiling like a dumbass.

"I did! Twice!"

"Well, if you called my name twice, and I didnt answer, don't you think that means I don't wanna fucking talk to you?"

"No. I think it means that you're a giant nerd and you were thinking about giant nerd things."

Baz wants to kick him out.

"Anyway," Simon continues, like he hasn't said enough. "So, like...I just wanna tell you that, uh, you know. I'm fine with your whole...thing."

Fuck. Fuck? Fuck. Baz's  _thing?_ How could Simon possibly know about Baz's sexuality? Maybe Baz stared at him for too long, or got caught checking him out, or got fucking accidental heart eyes. But if Simon knew, then why would he still be here? How could he possibly be fine with Baz being in love with him? Perhaps, Simon Snow, so used to people pining after him and kissing his ass and telling him how special he is, couldn't care less about one more person being head over heels for him.

He's lucky he spent his teenage years practicing his poker face, otherwise he'd be an utter mess right now.

Simon takes his silence as motivation to talk some more. He really shouldn't. "I know I made it into a huge deal during our time at Watford, and I—it was only because I thought you were murdering people on the daily. But you're only gone for like thirty minutes at a time a day, and I'm pretty sure homicide takes longer than that. I think. Maybe. I've never tried before. Anyway, uh, yeah. I assume you just...eat animals. I don't fucking know. It'd be real nice if you jumped in or something."

Baz lets out a proper breath for the first since Simon brought up his quote unquote  _thing_. Baz assumed he was talking about his raging homosexuality, but it's just about him being a vampire. This is familiar territory, and Baz isn't freaked out anymore. Simon spent most his years at Watford wearing a cross necklace and trying to convince everyone Baz was a blood sucking monster. Baz got good at deflecting.

He takes a slow sip of his drink, a corner of his lips turning up, just to annoy Simon. "You're still on your vampire bullshit?"

"Jokes on you, I was never off my vampire bullshit."

"I don't think you understand what the term 'jokes on you' means."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Simon scoots closer. "Look. I'm not dumb. Well—not as dumb as you think I am."

"If you weren't as dumb as I think you are, you'd stop fucking talking."

"Do you always act like a dick when people try to show you support?"

Baz doesn't say that that's not a frequent occurrence. He doesn't say anything. Everything Simon does makes Baz want to kiss him. He hates it.

"Hey," Simon says. "Look, I'm just saying. It's fine that you're a—sorry, if. It's fine  _if_  you're a vampire. I mean, morally, I'm not sure, but it's fine with me. You just don't need to worry about me."

"Okay," Baz replies, and it comes out quieter than he intended. 

 

Simon doesn't come over for breakfast, and he's not there when Baz gets home from work. (No, he doesn't have a key to Baz's place. But he does know that Baz's spare key is above the doorway. Before Simon moved to the building, Baz didn't even have a spare key, not having a need for it. Simon doesn't know that. Or maybe he does. Who would believe that Baz would voluntarily keep a key to his apartment right above his doorway, the most basic of places?)

Unlike the previous similar incident, Baz doesn't spend the entire day worrying. Instead, he sets his briefcase in his apartment and immediately goes to Simon's apartment. Even though they spent so long ( _so long_ ) tidying the place up, they spend most of their time at Baz's place. Simon says it's because he doesn't want Baz criticizing his lifestyle, but Baz is pretty sure Simon just likes cleaning out his fridge.

When Simon opens the door, Baz thinks maybe he  _should_ have spent the day worrying. His hair's a mess, and he looks as lost as he did the day Baz came barging into his place. He doesn't even attempt to fix up his disheveled appearance to save face, but leaves the door open and proceeds inside. Baz assumes he's supposed to follow. And he does.

Baz waits for Simon to sit, but he doesn't. He just paces back and forth behind the couch. "What's wrong?" Baz asks, figuring the sooner he gets an answer, the better. His mind's already running in all sorts of directions. Baz had gotten used to seeing Simon smiling or laughing or rolling his eyes or complaining or trying not to fall asleep. Basically everything other than...this.

When Simon looks at him, Baz realizes he hasn't slept. He doesn't like seeing him like this. But what Simon says doesn't exactly clear things up. "I was just on facetime with Penny," he mumbles, playing with his fingers. Baz waits for him to elaborate, which is a mistake he should know better than to make. When Simon gets like this, you'd be lucky to get a whole sentence out of him.

Simon won't look at anything for longer than twenty seconds, so his eyes jump from one thing to another. But when his focus turns to Baz, he won't even look at him for more than a second. It makes Baz even more tense.

"Okay..." Baz trails off. "You facetime her twice a day. What's the problem?"

That only seems to make Simon more panicked. He tugs at the roots of his hair, which is getting really long, and looks like he wants the conversation to be over already. Baz crosses the room to him, puts his hand on Simon's shoulders, and forces him down to the couch. Simon looks up at him with pained eyes. If this is Bunce's doing, Baz might be considering murdering her, something he hasn't thought about since school.

"I haven't...she doesn't..." Simon rasps and tries to clear his throat.

"Okay." Baz says. Simon gives him a questioning look. "Okay. Sit here, breathe, 5 seconds in, 5 seconds out, try not to cry." He gets up, and Simon looks even more distraught at the thought of Baz leaving. Baz reassures, "I'm just getting you a water."

Simon makes a face, briefly forgetting his meltdown. "Can I have a soda instead?"

"No."

Simon involuntarily pouts. Baz can tell the difference between Simon's forced pout and the one that just shows up on it's own. Baz doesn't get to look for long.

He comes back from the kitchen and tosses Simon the bottle. "So. Bunce?" Baz asks, sitting on the table so he could look directly at Simon. Also so Simon has to look back at him.

"Baz, I...I haven't..." Simon winces and takes a long sip of his Cola. "I haven't told her that we're...that you and I...you know, that we're friends."

Baz raises a brow at that. "Scandalous."

Simon looks overcome with shock that Baz doesn't care. "I've lied to her over and over again. Even worse, I'm...you..."

"What?"

"I'm lying to her about  _you,_ " Simon exclaims like it's supposed to mean something.

"How could she ever forgive you?" Baz asks blankly.

Simon shakes his head vigorously. "It's not about her forgiving me. I mean the part about me lying to her is, but you should be angry at me."

"Me?" Baz furrows his brows. He wishes he and Simon were on the same page, but he can't follow his thought process.

Simon shakes his head like Baz is being difficult on purpose. "I just...I thought living on my own would end with me being more depressed than I originally was, but these past months were nothing like I imagined. And it's because of you. And I know it's just because you were convinced you owe me but  _come on_ , if it was just that, you would've gone back to ignoring my existence months ago. And I don't even know why I haven't said anything to Penelope. She'd blow it out of proportion. Or she'd wonder why I'm not blowing it out of proportion. And I don't like confrontations."

"You don't need to worry about me," Baz repeats Simon's words to him, and it finally gets him a smile. A weak one, but a smile nonetheless.

"But—"

"Do you  _want_ me to be mad?"

"It's just not fair. To you." Simon looks away, flustered.

Baz begins to understand. "Look," he says, getting up. Simon's eyes follow. "It's fine. You and I? We're fine. Maybe you just need some time alone to cool down."

He walks all the way to the door. It's only ajar when Simon calls after him. "Baz. Don't go," he croaks.

Baz leans on the wall next to the door. "Why not?"

Simon's standing now. "Just...you don't need to leave. Stay."

"Why, Snow?"

He stumbles like Baz punched him. "Simon. You call me Simon."

"Why shouldn't I leave?" Baz insists.

"You know why," Simon says through his teeth.

"Tell me." Baz needs to hear him say it.

But Simon's never been the best with words. He crosses the room in long strides, and Baz's throat gets dryer with every step he takes. Soon enough, Simon's taking Baz's face in his hands and kissing him breathless. Baz's heart sinks to his stomach. He can't pull Simon close enough.

Baz has kissed a lot of guys. It's not like he got out of school and spent the next seven years pining helplessly after Simon Snow. He's had his fair share of boyfriends and make out sessions and...other forms of entertainment, but nothing like this. One kiss and it feels like his entire body has turned to liquid. It's not soft and tender. It's arrhythmic and intense and soul-searing, Baz would assume. For the first time in his life, nothing feels wrong.

Simon breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against Baz's. "That's why." Baz brings a hand to the back of his neck and presses their lips back together, hard, because god fucking damn it if he's gonna let Simon get away after waiting for this moment for  _so fucking long._ Simon pushes him back against the door, closing the door behind them.

"How about we test out the quality of IKEA mattresses?" Baz murmurs against his lips and Simon grins.


End file.
